


Runnin' with the Devil

by Frost_and_Light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Samifer - Freeform, Season 5 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frost_and_Light/pseuds/Frost_and_Light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam prays to the angel Lucifer and demands to be by his side as he orchestrates the apocalypse--after all, cleaning up his messes is no one's responsibility but his own. Eventual Sam/Lucifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Begins in late season 5 (sometime before Point of No Return).
> 
> Sort of AU; I'm trying to write a fic with a slightly more independent Sam, who tries to stop the apocalypse without putting Dean or anyone else in harm's way.

It was all Sam could do. He saw the dwindling numbers on their side of the fight—Jo, Ellen, Anna, and other members of their makeshift family were gone. Besides that, Bobby and Castiel were only running at half-strength. It was becoming abundantly clear that this war was far beyond the Winchester boys' pay-grade. They just weren't up to fighting the armies of heaven and hell. The only power the brothers had was the ability to say 'yes' or 'no', and to live with the consequences.  


As long as Dean had his way, they'd keep dodging both sides. Keep fighting and researching and looking for the way out. Because as long as they never sank too low, as long as they did things right, there had to be an answer.  


It was odd, Sam thought, that Dean was the brother who felt that way. Sam had always been the faithful one, the one who prayed and believed in God and the angels. Yet it seemed it was Dean who had the unwavering idea of right and wrong. And if he continued to follow his elder brother's example, their strategy would never change. It wasn't the black-and-white morality so similar to that of the angels that was needed here.  


So Sam used the most special power he had been given by Azazel's and Ruby's blood. That power wasn't psychic abilities, or exorcisms, or immunity to the Croatoan. It wasn't even the degree of influence it gave him over Lucifer, really. The power was that he was already impure. An abomination, as Castiel had said so frankly. He was already ruined, so it made sense that he take the fall. The perfect sacrifice, his life not useful for much else.  


It was this line of reasoning that led Sam Winchester to leave everything behind. He left his phones, his books, most of his clothes and weapons. He left his laptop and his fake credit cards. Most importantly, he left his older brother and the man's angel. He left every part of him that wasn't entirely focused on the job of stopping the end of the world. Armed with only a half-full duffel bag, the young hunter walked south out of De Soto, Missouri.  


“Lucifer,” the young man called after nearly an hour of walking. He had ducked into a stand of trees on the other side of a creek from the highway, and was now kneeling awkwardly on a rock, not sure how Dean usually prayed to get Cas's attention.  


The air grew cold and crisp, despite it being late spring in this part of the country. The wind picked up with the rapid change in temperature, feeling like an approaching storm. The drop in pressure and the sudden sound of fabric or feathers being torn about by the wind told Sam that his prayer had been heard.  


“Sam,” Lucifer said, eyebrows raised. “I didn't expect you for another few weeks, I gotta admit.” The devil was dressed as he always had been, cheap and well-worn jeans, plain shirt over plain t-shirt, nondescript boots, tarnished wedding ring a quiet reminder that the body was not always Lucifer's. He crossed his arms over his chest, stepping forward until he was just a few feet from the hunter.  


Sam scrambled to his feet in response to the overwhelmingly uncomfortable feeling that seemed to surround the casual form the angel had taken. He searched for words he had been rehearsing for days. He had thought he'd come upon the best combination he could manage, but the phrases escaped him now. He made do with anxious improvisation. “Uh, Lucifer. I want to...okay, you said that you would do anything for me, right? Never lie to me or hurt me?” He questioned. The angel nodded, seeming sincere. “Okay, then I want to spend the next 20 days...with...you, I guess,” he finished.  


The devil's eyes narrowed, and a hand came up to absent-mindedly play with the stubble on his vessel's face. “I doubt that that is sincerely what you want, Sam. But I understand wanting to stall me, or to search for a weakness, or even to try to convince me of the error of my ways.” Lucifer looked amused at the thought.  


“But you would do something for me even if you didn't want to,” the hunter pressed, feeling for all the world as though he were standing on the proverbial thin ice.  


“With a few exceptions, yes. Of course I would. Anything to make you understand how important you are to me,” he replied as he stepped forward, passing around Sam, grazing close but never touching.  


“Okay. Then that's the first thing I want,” Sam said with a firm nod, daring to lock eyes with Lucifer.  


The devil smiled. “As you wish.”

......

A quick touch to the forehead had transported both Sam and Lucifer to a small office in a mid-sized city. Soberly-dressed professionals milled about, performing the mundane tasks required of them. Sam looked out the window, hoping to spot a landmark, and found none. They could have been anywhere in the lower 48; Hell, they could have been in Canada.  


“Where are we,” Sam asked Lucifer quietly, turning to face the angel.  


“In the headquarters of a custom shirt-printing company,” was the disinterested reply. The answer explained the mock-ups pinned to cork board throughout the office.  


“I meant which city?”  


Lucifer's eyes flicked to the window, as if he was checking for the answer. “Boise.”  


“Idaho?”  


“Idaho.”  


Sam filed the info away. He then realized, based on his experience with the general public, that the workers in the office should have been panicked by his and the angel's sudden appearance. “Are we invisible, or is everyone here, uh, possessed,” he asked, whispering the last word.  


In response, each of the two dozen heads in the room whipped in his direction, black eyes staring as they continued their work. Sam shivered, but didn't bother voicing a reaction.  


“I really don't think you want to see my pre-apocalypse prep work, Sam,” Lucifer said frankly, resting on the edge of an unoccupied desk.  


“I bet I don't, but I don't care. Take me with you,” Sam replied. The angel's frown deepened. “Uh, please,” he added, muttering.  


Satan sighed. “If you're sure that's what you want,” he said, moving to speak with one of the demons who was hurrying past with a stack of file folders. “I'm changing my plan,” Lucifer said stiffly, his voice barely loud enough for Sam to hear.  


The woman nodded, keeping her eyes low. “Of course,” she replied with a careful glance in Sam's direction, the glare of light on her glasses obscuring her eyes from the hunter. “I'll alert your lieutenants at once.” She promptly disappeared, the folders stacked in a messy pile on the nearest desk.  


“We're leaving, Sam,” Lucifer said, causing Sam to jump as the devil appeared at his side.  


“Already? Where are we going?” Sam asked.  


“To kill an angel.”

.....

The pair appeared in a car parts factory, somewhere warmer than Idaho. Sam looked around anxiously, knowing how dangerous a fight between angels might become. Everything in the warehouse seemed still, though he could barely make out his surroundings; the only lighting came from the glow of the emergency exit signs and the ambient light from outside.  


Lucifer's footsteps sounded, slow but not particularly careful. Sam followed behind the angel, knowing he had no other choice. What felt like an eternity—and was likely about four minutes—passed in that near-total silence and darkness.  


“I thought you said I wouldn't want to see this,” Sam whispered, his voice so quiet he barely did more than mouth the words. “The angels have actually tortured me and Dean to try to get at you. They're as bad as the demons we've met. I'm not going to be upset if there's one less out there.”  


Lucifer snorted softly at Sam's comment, which struck the hunter as a disarmingly human response.“This is a spontaneous choice. I rearranged my schedule a bit,” was the reply, in a tone not nearly as quiet as Sam's. He didn't elaborate.  


The sudden whining and whirring of machinery startled the hunter, causing him to crouch low behind a conveyor belt, pocket knife in hand. Lucifer spared him a quick look before striding confidently forward.  


“Raziel, sister, I know you're here,” the devil called, his tone more serious than Sam had ever heard from him. “Come finish this quickly.”  


There was a long, achingly tense pause before the lights flickered, revealing a south-Asian woman in a business suit, perched on top of a half-assembled car frame. The hunter's eyes didn't linger on the dark hair pulled into a tight bun, or the cut of the suit, or the well-manicured hands. His attention was focused entirely on the blade she held at her side, tip pointing almost hungrily at Lucifer.  


“If I can help it, _brother,_ your death will be _anything_ but quick,” she spat.  


For the first time that Sam had seen, the archangel had no reply. Instead of drawling out a witty retort, Lucifer took slow but intent steps forward, raising his arms in an invitation to violence.  


Raziel only took a minute to glare and raise her blade before leaping off the nearly-car in a high arc, weapon pointed below her as she fell to the floor with more force than the weight of her vessel should have been able to produce. Her brother stepped back, avoiding the blow as if it had been in slow -motion. A quick swipe forward, slashing the air in a wide line ahead of the agent of heaven, blurred by almost faster than Sam could see. He crouched behind his cover, unable to contribute anything to the fight and unsure whether he would need to. It was a win-win situation for him; either way, an enemy was out of the game.  


Lucifer caught Raziel's arm as she pulled into another wide slash, catching her by the wrist and twisting her blade arm up toward her throat. The younger angel dropped the weapon from the one hand and caught it in her other, striking for Lucifer's jaw in one fluid motion. This attack, too, was dodged, and the devil grabbed his sibling by her coat, pulling her off the ground and keeping her at distance with his longer reach. Raziel spat on his face. The retaliation against a monster known for his arrogance made Sam certain that the fight was coming to an end—there was no way Satan would tolerate such direct disrespect.  


“I don't want to kill you, sister. Abandon your mission, or face Michael's fate,” Lucifer whispered, his voice full of gravity and barely-contained fury.  


“If I cannot reach the one,” she told Lucifer spitefully “then I'll take the other.” The woman's head whipped to face Sam, who froze. She held out a hand faster than Sam could see it move, and he was blown backwards. The young man crashed like a ragdoll into the wall, and was pinned against it, hanging two feet from the ground. He chocked and struggled, but it felt like an invisible and impossibly strong hand was holding him up by the throat. Aside from panic and rapidly decreasing oxygen levels in his brain, Sam was clearly aware that he had only a handful of minutes before he'd pass out—at which point he'd be at the mercy of whoever won the celebrity deathmatch in front of him.  


There was a moment of slow stillness as Lucifer's gaze was turned toward the hunter, face darkening.  


Raziel took advantage of the moment, kicking out and pushing Lucifer into a long window at the side of the warehouse. As he collided with the glass, a spray of frost painted itself along the window to the angel's sides, leaving ice crystals in a sharp imprint of wings.  


“ _Enough_ ,” the devil's voice boomed, the room flashing a painfully bright light as he spoke. Raziel raised her arm to shield her eyes from the light, dropping Sam as she did. By the time the burning and the hectic spots of light cleared from the human's vision, Raziel was already pinned to the ground. Her arm was extended above her, archangel's blade angled down as Lucifer held her wrist. The devil was perched over his sister, staring coldly into her eyes. “Enjoy the fruits of your loyalty,” he whispered simply, then twisted her arm down to push the blade into her heart.  


Raziel's grace erupted, spilling out of her eyes and mouth in a bright and whining rush, forcing Sam to shield his eyes again. He heard Lucifer stand and take a couple steadying steps. Sam looked up, blinking. He was surprised to see that the devil's face was contorted with some dark emotion.  


“Your brother will hear about this from Castiel, I bet. I assume you're okay with that,” Lucifer said without turning to look at him.  


It was more than okay to Sam; he'd left Dean a note simply reading “I know you don't believe me, but I'm okay, and I'm trying to work this out. Sorry, Dean.” His brother would have been livid and racked with worry, so any news that Sam was still Sam would be worth something, even if it was only delivered by angel radio.  


And as dangerous as it might be to let his guard down, the hunter was beginning to believe Lucifer wouldn't hurt him—at least not at the moment. He felt himself slowly relaxing as the adrenaline rush the fight had provoked in him faded. “Lucifer,” he began, deciding he needed to take a few more risks if he was going to learn anything useful about the banished angel's plans. “What were you originally going to do, before I asked you to bring me along?”  


“Sam, I'm not going to add a disclaimer every time you ask me a question you know you won't like an answer to,” the angel cautioned.  


The comment, though it made the hunter nervous, impressed upon him the importance of knowing Lucifer's plan. If he wouldn't like hearing it, he would have to make sure it didn't happen. “I think I can handle it,” he replied tightly.  


The devil reached down, gently pulling the archangel's blade from the rigor mortis of Raziel's fingers and shaking off the blood of her vessel's heart from the weapon's shining surface. When he stood back up, his eyes lingered a moment on the face of his sister's vessel, which had poured out the angel's grace minutes before. “I've had something brewed for me. A special house-warming present to myself. I won't spoil the surprise of it all, but suffice to say I didn't think you'd want to see it in action.”  


“You were going to go see if some kind of weapon for mass-murder was finished,” Sam clarified flatly. “Damn right I wouldn't want to see that, but it's going on whether we're there or not, right? Take me next time,” he insisted.

.......

 

Sam had needed a drink, and he'd needed to just be out in the world. He found the closest pub to the shirt-printing office and had worked carefully through a handful of beers until his shaking had started to ebb.  


He was trying to puzzle together what had happened, and why Lucifer had chosen to show him what he had. The hunter had no way to confirm that Satan didn't have some kind of large-scale weapon., or any way to learn what it was short of simply asking. The only thing he could work on was what he had seen as the archangel had fought against Raziel.  


Lucifer had said the fight was a spontaneous choice, though that couldn't necessarily be trusted either. What Raziel had said was likely more honest.

Sam had gotten the impression that she had been talking about Sam and Dean when she mentioned taking the one or the other.  


Sam slapped a handful of dollar bills on the bar and rushed out of the pub as quickly as he could. Back in the office building, he jabbed impatiently at the elevator call button until it arrived, resisting the ridiculous urge to pace in the tiny elevator. He slipped through the doors as they ground open and rushed down the hallway.  


“ _Where is Lucifer_ ,” he demanded when he reached the unit he wanted.  


“You can just pray for me next time, Sammy,” the devil replied from his spot in a leather-wrapped office chair in the corner.  


“Don't call me that,” Sam said briskly. “You saved Dean,” he stated, still breathing heavily from his hurried arrival.  


Lucifer tilted his head to the side. “You sound like you're accusing me of something.” He replied, raising an eyebrow questioningly.  


“ _Why_ ,” he demanded.  


The archangel sighed, sliding his feet off of the desk in front of him and sitting up, his hands tented under his chin. “Because I want you to understand that I don't like the thought of you suffering. You freed me, Sam. I owe you everything. If your brother is important to you, he's important to me.”  


The hunter might not have believed a word that dripped from the mouth of the Prince of Lies, but for the realization he had come to in the pub minutes ago.  


Lucifer had killed Raziel to save Dean from torture. A sibling for a sibling, the action chosen by a creature who despised humans. The thought had ground Sam's brain to a spluttering halt. He had thought that anything he might be offered by Satan was tainted, covered in the blood of humankind. That he should never accept it. That in a world where his idea of morality was in constant upheaval, he could at least be certain the the devil's actions were always the very definition of evil.  


But it was _Dean_.  


“Sam,” the devil began, rising slowly from his seat. “Why did you come to me? What did you expect to be able to do?” His voice was gentle, but his eyes were sharp and focused intently. The bustling of the office had stopped and all the demons had cleared out without Sam noticing. “Did you hope to make up for every mistake you've made? For freeing me? Did you want to clean up your own mess without putting anyone else in harm's way?”  


Sam's hands balled into fists. His silence was likely answer enough, but it embarrassed him to be understood so easily by a monster, so he found he could do nothing but hold his tongue.  


“I don't understand why you blame yourself,” Lucifer said. He came to stand a few feet from the hunter, his voice soft and patient. “All the wrongs that have been done to you,” he began, then sighed. The devil shook his head, seeming to struggle to find the words to express himself to the simple creature he must have found Sam to be. “You always try to do what's best, don't you? Even when your beloved brother disagrees. Tell me, Sam, why should you be punished for trying to do what you think is right?”  


The question itched at him. It was something he had avoided asking himself since he'd gotten back on the road with Dean and left his normal life at Stanford behind. But he knew where Lucifer's line of thought was going. He knew the lore.  


“I'm not like you,” Sam said flatly.  


“Sorry?”  


“You want to annihilate my species. You could never tug at my heartstrings enough for me to sympathize with you about what you think is right,” he told Satan defiantly.  


“Humanity is...imperfect, but I don't want to be rid of them. I _will_ fight Michael, and I _will_ right the wrongs that have been done to me. Nothing would make me happier than to give you the same opportunity. On your own terms, of course,” he added, holding his hand up to interrupt Sam from the protest he was about to voice.  


“Is that right,” Sam muttered skeptically. “And what exactly do you have in mind? Murder the kids who stole my lunch money?”  


“So dramatic,” the angel crooned. “It's all up to you, Sam. Tell me, where would you like my vengeance applied?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the slow update. I got a job and so haven't had much down-time. But I've had some time to adjust the direction of the story, and I think I like it more now? So you should see some new chapters soon-ish.
> 
> But please, enjoy!

Sam had first asked to go to Zachariah. Lucifer had agreed, but had been curious as to why Sam had chosen this angel in particular. The hunter had explained the Winchester boys' various interactions with the angel since having met them, and watched the lines in Lucifer's face deepen and his mouth pull tight as he described the torture the boys were subjected to.

“And your brother didn't let Michael in, even to save you from torture,” Lucifer had said quietly.

“I would never want him to give up on all of humanity just to spare me pain,” had been Sam's simple, defiant reply. 

To Sam's surprise, the answer had appeared to satisfy the devil. Without another word, Lucifer has whisked them off to their current location, which appeared to be an unoccupied and furniture-free apartment building in a part of the world that was definitely not in the US. If Sam had been given enough time to guess, he would have eventually (and correctly) concluded that they had appeared in Morocco. 

However, having been carried halfway around the world only to appear mere meters from the angel Zachariah, Sam had no time to closely examine the skyline. 

“Lucifer,” the angel began, his voice as smooth as a greasiest of businessmen. He seemed to lose his train of thought as his eyes flicked to Sam, who stood behind Lucifer and held Raziel's blade ready. “I'm not sure I believe this,” he almost spluttered. “We knew you'd give in eventually, Sam, but come on! You're the sentimental brother. I'm surprised you'd disappoint Dean so quickly.”

Sam's mouth pulled into a hard line and he gave an irritated little twitch of his head, but otherwise held his tongue. 

“On that note,” Lucifer interjected, scratching at his head absent-mindedly “Sam here tells me that you've had a lot of trouble getting Dean to say 'yes' to Michael. It seems your Righteous Man isn't the cooperative game piece you'd hoped for.”

Zachariah shrugged his shoulders in a way he must have thought was agreeable, saying “it's the downside to their free-will, am I right?” 

Lucifer didn't answer, and Sam allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit of pleasure as Zachariah began to squirm under the devil's inexpressive gaze. 

The younger angel coughed into his hand and then continued. “Yes, well, we can't all be so well-versed in persuasion as the king of Hell.”

“You think Sam is with me because I tortured him,” Lucifer said, more statement than question. His back was to Sam, but the hunter could hear a small smile in his voice. 

What remained of Zachariah's own smile, plastic and tight as it had been, dropped from his face. His eyes shot in Sam's direction, and the human glared back. “You're joking,” he muttered.

“I have a better sense of humour than that,” Lucifer replied with a sigh.

“Then you're lying,” he declared.

Lucifer shot forward before Sam could blink. He looked down his nose at his little brother, vessel's shoulders pulled up tight as he held himself still. “I have never lied,” he growled.

“My mistake,” Zachariah replied, trying to avoid looking into Lucifer's eyes despite there being only a few inches between them. “So uh,” the angel continued after a period of absolute silence. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Lucifer turned to look over his shoulder, gazing at Sam with a single eyebrow raised. Sam recognized that he was being given some sort of cue, but didn't trust that he had understood. 

”Sam,” Lucifer prompted softly, “was there something you wanted to explain to Zachariah?”

The hunter hesitated. Killing Zachariah would be one of the only ways he could protect Dean, even if another angel would likely take his place. He had to admit it would also be extremely cathartic. However, the younger Winchester brother worried that what he had asked Lucifer to do was, in fact, merely hurrying the devil's plan along. Killing Zachariah was beneficial to both of them, but the enemy of his enemy certainly wasn't a friend.

Careful with his wording, Sam began “You tortured me, and you tortured my brother. You got your greasy hands on the memory of my dead _mother_. All to get Dean to agree to start the apocalypse and wipe half my species off the map in the crossfire. Why do you _think _I'd choose to see your face again?”__

“Brother,” Zachariah said, eyes opening wide and voice regaining its panicked edge. “Listen to me, Lucifer. This isn't the game plan. You and Michael are meant to fight it out. If you involve the host, you got that all of heaven will come down on you, right? Do you understand?”

Satan didn't move or utter a sound, and Zachariah began to panic in full. “You can't kill me. I don't know what game you're playing with this monkey, but are you going to ruin your precious revenge match just to mess with Sam Winchester?”

“Maybe that's your problem, Zachariah. You are treating Michael's vessel like a piece in a game. But I'm not playing,” Satan whispered in his brother's ear. 

“Boy! Stop him, he'll listen to you!” The angel seemed to nearly be in hysterics and Sam was becoming uncomfortable.

“He's right, Sam. Say the word.” 

He did. Sam told the devil to kill, and the devil killed. A spray of the vessel's blood erupted into the air, splattering beads across Lucifer's face and the worn-down carpet on which they stood. Sam panted, and realized he had been holding his breath.

................

Sam had no plans beyond taking out the heavy hitters and keeping the devil busy. He would have worried that he was only hurrying the end of the world, but he knew that both heaven and hell needed to be out of the picture to stop the end of days. Besides that, both Zachariah and Lucifer had seemed against the idea of proceeding this way. That alone was reason enough for Sam to keep going.

The next target was Raphael. He was a dangerous target, the hunter understood. He was an archangel—of the same rank Lucifer once was. But the devil assured Sam that Raphael was his younger brother, and that he could be beaten.

“Michael is the warrior,” he assured the younger Winchester. “But I could use the warm-up.”

“So it sounds, from what Zachariah said,” Sam began diplomatically. He hoped he could find out more about the change his actions might have caused in the war. If he could play things right, he could keep Dean safe, or buy the Earth some time, or even weaken both sides. 

Lucifer huffed, a tiny grin appearing on his face. The devil's eyebrows raised with mock surprise. “Are you trying to manipulate me?”

The hunter felt panic draining the blood from his face. “I uh...”

Lucifer dropped his smile, saying “you don't need to be afraid around me. And you don't need to hide. Tell me what you want, Sam. Anything.”

If Lucifer had not already known where Sam's line of questioning had been headed, he would have continued with as subtle an approach as possible. However, it seemed that was a wasted effort, so he cleared his throat and spoke. “What happens now? It sounds like you and heaven had some kind of agreement that the fight would be between you and Michael, but that's been ruined hasn't it? You've killed Raziel and Zachariah, and we're going to Raphael next. So are you Heaven's Most Wanted?” 

”Your concern is touching,” the devil teased “but I can handle my family. Defeating Michael has meaning to me, you see. It was meant to be a symbolic beginning. But a gift isn't very impressive if the giving it doesn't mean something, don't you think?”

Sam nodded, taking in what he had been told as significant, but not necessarily true.

“Fine,” he said, setting his jaw. “The next thing you can give me is Raphael's head.”

............ 

It wasn't as straight-forward as the first two 'gifts'. Stupidly—considering the Winchester family luck—Sam had expected this kill to follow the pattern. He would stand back, Lucifer would kill an angel and look uncomfortably human afterward, and Sam would be able to glean something from the conversation he overheard. 

With Raphael, it wasn't that he didn't learn something. It was merely that the pieces of the puzzle were coming together, and the image wasn't at all what he had expected it to be.

Human and devil arrived in an empty parking lot somewhere hot and humid. It was night, and the sound of the crickets and frogs was as loud as the traffic of any freeway at rush hour. Sam could already feel his hair sticking to his forehead, and he used one hand to fan his shirt while the other held an archangel's blade at the ready. 

Lucifer looked over at him, frowning, and Sam felt immediate relief from the heat. His skin prickled with frost as if he'd stepped into a deep-freeze. 

“Cut it out,” he hissed to the angel. 

Lucifer shrugged and let the heat press back in around them, though the devil himself didn't appear to be phased.

Sam looked around, looking for signs of Raphael or other agents of heaven, but saw nothing moving other than the fireflies at the edge of the woods. Keeping his voice quiet, he asked “what are we doing here?” 

“We're waiting,” he replied simply.

“Waiting for...?”

“Raphael. He will be here shortly, but we'll have to do some waiting.”

“Should I be...hiding, or something,” Sam asked.

The devil shrugged. “If it makes you feel better. But you can just relax, Sam.” 

“Fine,” the hunter said, sitting on a curb at a point that wasn't too overgrown with the grass sprouting from cracks in the asphalt. “Just tell me when he's coming. And uh, turn the AC back on.” 

The devil obeyed with a silent smile. 

..............

When the time came, Lucifer didn't need to say a word. Sam knew, and he felt his stomach sink with dread. The hunter stood as the rumble of the Impala grew louder. He shot the devil an accusatory look that would have seemed suicidal to him a few days ago. For his part, Lucifer merely flicked his gaze to meet the hunter's for a brief moment, expression blank, before returning it to the approaching car.

Sam had no idea what to say. Dean wouldn't understand why he was there, wouldn't trust his judgement. That was probably good. Sam still wasn't sure he could trust himself either.

“We can leave if you want to, Sam,” Lucifer said gently. The hunter was irritated by the devil's attempt to be friendly, but he brushed it off and considered the offer.

“No,” he decided. “Raphael's after him, isn't he?” 

Lucifer nodded.

“Then we stay.”

The climate control was dropped as their father's car rolled into the parking lot, coming to park in front of the vacated former Chinese restaurant at one end of the strip mall. The Impala's door whined as it swung open then snapped closed. Dean feigned putting a hand in his back pocket as he palmed his gun, putting on an air of confidence and walking toward the pair. The older Winchester hesitated a moment partway down the strip, and Sam knew he had recognized the pair. Sam sucked in a tight breath.

“You don't need to be anxious,” Lucifer assured him. “I told you I would never let you be hurt.” 

Sam was incredulous, but he tried not to let it show. It wasn't the time. “I'm more worried he's going to shoot you,” Sam replied stiffly.

“It's fine if he does,” the devil replied. “I'm only here to kill an angel. Scout's honour.”

“Sammy,” Dean growled when he had reached them. His gun and his eyes were pointed squarely at Lucifer even as he addressed his brother. “You okay?” 

“Yeah Dean, I'm fine,” he replied, stepping forward. 

“Great. Then _what the fuck are you doing here_ ,” he demanded.

“Excuse me?” Sam said, taken aback.

“If you aren't hurt then you haven't been trying your damnedest to get out of here. That can only mean you want to be standing next to Satan himself. So what the hell are you _doing_ , man?”

Sam sighed. “Okay Dean, look. I don't expect you to understand, but—”

The sound of air being whipped around—a sound Sam believed indicated huge, invisible wings—cut him short and disturbed the otherwise thick and still air around them. The sound announced Raphael's arrival, and the group's attention was quickly redirected.

“Lucifer,” the other archangel drawled. “I must say that even with the gossip in heaven, I didn't expect you to be this...rash.”

“If you expected me at all, you shouldn't have come, little brother,” he said forcefully. “Join me, Raphael. Or flee. Don't make me fight you.” Lucifer stepped forward, placing himself between the angel and his vessel.

“I cannot do that, Lucifer, as you well know. I must act in accordance with our father's will.” 

“Now is the wrong time for you to grow a spine,” the devil replied tightly before launching forward, an archangel's blade suddenly in his hand.

“Woah!” Dean backed away, whipping his gun to try to follow the two archangels as they engaged. 

Thunderclaps erupted as the two fought, with the atmospheric pressure flipping so rapidly it was making Sam dizzy. Still, his brother seemed ready to do something stupid, and he needed to keep him safe.

“Dean.” He grabbed his brother's shoulder and pulled slowly but forcefully back. “You can't put a scratch on either of them, man. It's not our pay-grade. We have to watch for a weakness,” he insisted.

“Is that what you've been doing,” Dean asked. He backed up under Sam's direction, but never stopped watching the clash.

“Yeah. Mostly. Just gathering intel, mostly.” 

“Mostly,” his brother pressed. 

The pair flinched as another thunderclap boomed around them. The archangels were a blur, and Sam was having real trouble focusing, but Dean was right here. There were things he needed to know. 

“Lucifer is...I don't know, Dean. He's trying to gain my trust. Or maybe prove something. Whatever it is, he's killing the God Squad. Some woman named Raziel who was searching for you, then Zachariah. Now we're here, presumably saving your ass from...wait, what are you doing here,” Sam asked, realizing he obviously hadn't come for Sam.

“There were omens here. Big time stuff. Thought I could catch a heavy hitter and get it to lead me to you.” His gun still followed the fight tensely.

A blur of noise and colour whipped toward Sam suddenly, and he found an archangel's blade pressed to his heart, with Raphael at the other end. “I suppose it would be cathartic to pop your head like a pustule,” he said, voice level despite heavy breathing “but I wouldn't want to be covered in that tainted blood of yours.”

Sam heard—and felt—a low growl before Lucifer appeared behind the other angel, one hand holding Raphael's blade back even as it cut into his hand and spilled out shrieking slivers of his grace. His own blade sprouted through Raphael's gut, and the man seized, his eyes turning to lock on his brother's. “Samael,” he coughed. “Brother. This is a great irony,” he finished with a whisper before his grace exploded out from his body and left six ashen wings imprinted on the cracked asphalt. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I published another chapter???? Whaaaaaaaaaaaat???

Sam felt the same sense of dread that Dean showed on his face, but he tried to cover it. He needed to be in control of the situation. The little brother wiped the archangel Raphael's blood from his face, careful not to smear it in his eyes. The sheen on his hand was a solemn reminder that Lucifer hadn't just killed his own brother, but the innocent vessel as well. Not for the first time, Sam wondered how many people were going to die to save his and his brother's asses. 

But just as always, the only thing Sam could do was react. Keep up. One thing at a time.

“Sammy, you okay,” Dean asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning in to be sure that none of the blood that was sprayed across his face and shirt was actually coming from him.

“I'm alright,” he said, addressing Lucifer as much as Dean when he noticed the angel appraising him. 

“Good,” Dean answered, grabbing his brother by the sleeve of his shirt. “Then we're going.” His glare dared either of them to argue with him. 

“Dean,” Sam said, pulling his arm free. “I have something going here.”

His brother stared at him, shocked and angry. “Yeah, I get that you think you do, but you shouldn't be anywhere near this guy,” he said, never having dropped his gun from its focus on Lucifer's head. “We're gonna go, we're gonna tell Cas everything, and we're gonna work on this together like we always do. Alright Sammy?”

“Because you don't trust me,” the little brother added simply.

“Look man, if that's what you wanna think, go right ahead,” he growled before grabbing Sam's sleeve once more as if he was going to drag him home the way their father used to when they strayed.

The grip on his wrist was once again cut short—leaving Sam feeling like his arm was the rope in a tug-of-war game—when Lucifer spontaneously appeared between the two brothers, arms crossed.

“I don't _think_ Sam wants to go with you,” the angel said, his tone soft yet bearing a dangerous finality. 

“And I don't think I could care less, you evil piece of shit,” Dean growled back. He whipped out a new gun, holding it askew so it wasn't aimed in Sam's direction, and fired a round into the devil's head. 

Lucifer dropped, and Sam was too stunned to do more than flinch at the sound of the gun going off. 

“Come on Sam, he won't be down for long,” Dean said, pulling back the hammer on the Colt and getting ready to defend himself when Satan stood again. 

The older brother's eyes flicked up briefly and found Sam hadn't moved. “Don't make me knock you out, because I'll do it. I'm fucking serious, Sam.”

“I know you are Dean, but...I don't think you can,” Sam said regretfully. He didn't like this position he was in. Didn't like having power over the brother who had always looked out for him, always put him first. It felt hugely unfair to not give Dean what he demanded. But for once he was certain it was Dean who wasn't thinking clearly. What their dad had said was obviously swimming around in the elder brother's head, and had been for over a year— “save Sammy, or kill him.” It meant that his brother was thinking about their family, when he should be thinking about the human race.

And while Sam didn't at all like the cards he'd been dealt, they were what he had to play. He was now wielding the archangel Lucifer like a weapon, and he had to be ready to make good use. 

“What?”

“I don't think you can drag me away from here,” the younger brother clarified, gentle but firm. 

Lucifer's body twitched as if it had been shocked, and he gulped in air like a drowning man. After a second, his tension relaxed and he growled, rolling onto his knees and then standing. 

It wasn't that Sam wasn't absolutely _terrified_ for Dean. But if Lucifer struck, then he proved himself a liar, and Dean would be resurrected by heaven in days. Despite many flaws, the younger Winchester brother was a skilled tactician, and he knew he was in a position of—admittedly limited—power. 

“Lucifer,” he said with as level a voice as he could manage, realizing as the words left his mouth that he should probably spare a bit of concern for his _own_ safety “let's go.”

The devil shot a winning smile at Dean. “We'll have to schedule another play-date,” he said smoothly before reaching two cold fingers up to Sam's forehead and carrying them both away.

...........

Sam was—to put it simply—monumentally confused by what had happened with Raphael. He asked Lucifer for clarification, and again received only a few, fairly evasive answers. First, he had asked why Raphael had called the devil 'Samuel'.

“'Samael,'” the devil had corrected. “Another of my names.”

The similarity scared the hunter a little, though he wasn't certain why. Having a name that sort of resembled the devil's was nothing compared to the knowledge that he had been born and raised to house him. In the list of ways he was connected to the fallen angel, it should have been the least significant, and he felt childish to be bothered by it.

Sam had decided to move past the issue, for the moment. “And what did he think was ironic?”

“I'm not sure,” Lucifer had replied flatly.

The hunter had summoned his nerves and prompted “Best guess?” 

“That I was killing one of my own kind at the request of a human,” he had answered after a long sigh. 

Sam was a very self-reflective person, and he knew how easily he could be dragged down by power. The interaction with his brother had been too uneven of a playing ground, and his extremely recent failings with Ruby and his _abilities_ made him feel almost nauseous with anxiety at the thought that Lucifer might hurt someone...at Sam's request. Therefore the hunter convinced himself that it would be strategic to simply follow the devil as he instated his real plans, and avoid humanity as much as he could while still learning what Lucifer was organizing. As it turned out, the plans involved the much-delayed visit to the weapon he had been developing. A demon had approached them at the shirt-printing office, all subservience and fear. The hunter had watched with interest as the archangel interacted with the monster.

It was not the indulgent, patient Lucifer he had grown used to, nor the taunting and arrogant personality the archangel had shown Dean. It was not even the barely-contained fury he had presented to the younger angels as they were begged for compliance so they could be spared death. 

This Lucifer was characterized by unrestrained disgust. Sam felt this might be the angel's truest face—full of pride and disregard for the suffering of those he saw as lesser. It scared and angered the hunter, and it was as welcome a reminder as he could have asked for.

The trip took them to Nevada, to a pharmaceutical company's labs. Lucifer walked them through long hallways dressed with contemporary art and frosted glass windows giving hints of spacious offices on either side. Employees moving through the building bowed out of the way with awe and deference, and Sam realized that they must, of course, be demons.

They got to an the end of a hallway and the door in front of them was unlocked with a flick of Lucifer's fingers. The angel gestured for Sam to enter ahead of him, and Sam did so reluctantly. He sat stiffly on the edge of a white leather chair, not feeling nearly at ease enough to sink into the well-stuffed furniture.

“You'll be waiting here while I take the VIP tour,” Lucifer told him without being prompted. He was leaning in the doorway, his shoulder blades hugging either side of the door frame. Sam watched the devil's face as blue eyes stared lazily down the hall in the direction of approaching footsteps. “Well,” he addressed the approaching figures casually. 

“We're ready,” said a voice that made Sam's brow furrow in recognition. 

“Fine. One of you will come with me, and one of you will stay here,” Lucifer turned his gaze to Sam “with him.” 

Sam was snapped out of the consideration he'd been giving the familiar voice by the implications. “What? No. I'm coming with you,” he stated. 

“Are you?” Lucifer's asked, his lopsided smile audible in his tone. “I can't remember agreeing to that.” 

Sam was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. Would Lucifer flat-out resist to show the hunter what his game plan entailed? Had he handed himself over to the devil and gotten absolutely nothing to show for it? 

“I though you said you'd give me anything I wanted,” he declared, ignoring the feeling that he was whining like a spoiled child. 

The archangel sighed. “I did. And you _don't_ want to see this, no matter what you seem to think,” he was told. Lucifer nodded his head in the direction of the room, and one of the demons in the hallway took the cue, stepping into the room and stopping with a jolt. 

Sam wasn't sure whether to hug the man or grab his knife. He settled for simply breathing “Brady?” 


End file.
